Sunday, 31 January 2010

It’s one of those mornings when I wake up with a pathetic hangover. I drag myself out from the bed with the blanket trailing behind me like some abnormally weird Cinderella robe. The few strands of hair that remains on my head are attempting an unkempt look. But then a proper unkempt look requires a lot of hair for them to get involved with each other. So I have been saved. My eyes look groggy, can do with a lot of sleep. The effects of a pathetic hangover from a boring dinner it seems.

I sit straight, the bed calling me like a desperate lover. I ask myself the highly philosophical and extremely pertinent question, the answer to which should give me the so called key to success; the effect that guide books of similar names and innovative spellings have when you intend to mug up for a hundred marks on the eleventh hour or later. And then realisation dawns upon me. it brings me the rare hues on my cheeks and the sparkles in my eyes even without my contact lenses. It is intoxicating. Like some virulent shot given through my veins that make me plunge back to life from the dead. Studies. Yes, my friends. Gape at me with disgust as much as you want to. I don’t care. I have found the passion in my life. I enjoy studying. Though it takes a lot of free kicks in the posterior to actually make me sit to do so, but once when I am at it, boy, I am at it. I can sit in libraries for hours and I can bunk classes in the process, and it’s not because the librarians are handsome. (They are not and they happen to be my father’s colleague anyway. Rotten luck.) It’s not that my pedagogic exhibitions have been exemplary. But the fact remains that my passion lies in mugging up, and even understanding some of them. Chide me all of you, if you will. But here I proclaim: I like to study. And no amount of mockery shall deter me from doing so. :|